Apart from my much-needed me-day, Jeddah turned out to be a total washout… literally.
I had grand plans for the following day. Vic and Tania had explored the city while I was being pampered, and they’d filled me in on all the must-see spots. My itinerary was set… start at the historic district, head to the Red Sea shore, and then walk the entire northern stretch of the Corniche… all the way to the floating mosque… and perhaps even beyond.
It was going to be the ultimate sightseeing day. I’d even prepped for the 10+ hours long walk with a solid dose of painkillers, knowing my poor heel and knee would be screaming. I was ready.
Then it started to rain...
I’d been warned there was rain in the forecast, but I ignored it.
Rain?
In Saudi Arabia?
Absurd.
I hadn’t seen a single raindrop in over two months… surely it wouldn’t start on my one and only Jeddah sightseeing day.
But sure enough, it poured.
Not just a drizzle, either. There was lightning and thunder and torrential storms. It rained so hard and so much that the streets were flooded in no time. There didn’t seem to be any drainage system in place at all… just rivers of water rushing down the roads, submerging all the cars and buses and trucks.
It was chaos.
My carefully crafted Jeddah tourist plans were ruined. We were stuck in the hotel. Not only were we all stuck in the hotel, we were stuck in the hotel all day. It was nearly impossible to venture out… unless you were a duck. Even after the rain stopped, the streets were still impassable. I was pretty frustrated. Jeddah had been one of the cities I’d been most excited to explore. I could have easily skipped some others… but instead, Jeddah was skipping me.
Had I checked the weather forecast, I could’ve swapped my me-day and sightseeing day around. But I didn’t.
Too late smart.
Don’t get me wrong… I loved my solo day of pampering and the luxury of having my own room, but I also really wanted to see the city and stretch my legs.
Hours spent sitting in the truck was taking its toll. Mentally and physically.
So now, when someone asks me, “Have you been to Jeddah?” my honest answer will have to be… no. I didn’t see a single thing worth mentioning, aside from the sushi restaurant (two… if you include the one that was boarded up), a beauty salon, and a corner store around the corner from our hotel.
Oh wait… I’m lying.
I also saw the Danube supermarket. Cook crew responsibilities had made their way back around to us… and Mr. Meat, Warren and I had to get all the groceries for the next day’s meal. Warren had messaged the evening before, letting us know he had plans and couldn’t shop until after 8:30pm… and would meet us at the Danube supermarket then.
Oh. Ok…
I didn’t really appreciate his text for a multitude of reasons. Mainly:
1. It wasn’t a request… it was more of an order.
2. He didn’t consider any plans we might have… at all.
3. After he sent the message, he went offline. So even if we’d responded, he wouldn’t have seen it. And we did respond. And he didn’t see it.
Brutal.
By 7pm… after a day of lying around, doing nothing, I was getting bored… and decided to head to the supermarket to get things moving. The Danube supermarket was 2 kilometers away. With the flooding and congested traffic, I knew it would take longer than usual to get there.
As I stepped outside, I bumped into Mr. Meat, who decided to join me for the walk. We looked like ducks waddling through puddles and navigating the rushing road rivers.
Although I was irritated with Warren, I really needed him to show up. Soon. Managing meal planning, choosing items, budgeting, calculating totals, figuring out quantities AND keeping Mr. Meat on task was too much for one person.
It was way too much.
We had decided to make tacos again… easy, cheap, and foolproof. But this time, I suggested we switch things up by using chicken instead of ground beef. It seemed like a reasonable idea to me, but apparently, this crew doesn’t do “switching things up.” Mr. Meat immediately shot it down, claiming he and Warren had already discussed my “ridiculous” idea and both of them flat-out refused to entertain it.
WTF???
You’d think I’d suggested serving lobster.
Right there in the middle of the frozen meat section, Mr. Meat launched into a dramatic outburst about how tedious it would be to use chicken: claiming we’d have to boil it… cut it… pull it… shred it… and then grill it. On and on and on he went about how stupid it would be to choose chicken over beef.
Boil the chicken?
Who were these people????
I’d had enough of his over-the-top theatrics and ranting. Without saying a word, I turned away from him, grabbed six packs of minced chicken, tossed them in the buggy… and moved on to continue shopping.
That was the end of it. Minced chicken it was. I got my way, exactly as I had planned it… and I wasn’t backing down.
Mr. Meat didn’t say another word.
Boil the chicken??? … seriously.
And Warren? He never even showed up.
The “flooding” was too bad for him to venture out. Poor man… we wouldn’t want him to get dirty AND wet, would we?
I messed up my departure time the next morning. The truck was set to leave at 9:45am, but for some reason, I had it in my head that it was 8:45am. So… I sat my ass down in the lobby and waited… unfortunately, directly across from Persnickety Marilyn.
While sitting there, I made a video call to a friend. At one point, she loudly asked, “Are you still on tour with that crazy lady?”
I smiled… wondering if Marilyn had overheard. Of course she had. She’s all ears when it comes to catching things to complain about. I’m sure she also knew the comment was about her. Though, in fairness, it’s not just “crazy lady.” It’s more like “crazy ladies.”
Get it right.
When Mickey came downstairs, I decided to ask if she’d liked the TikTok thank-you video I made. I’d sent it to her almost immediately after finishing it, thinking she’d appreciate it since she was in the opening clip.
Her reaction? Eyes darting away, a shrug, and a dismissive, “Ya… whatever… sure.”
Her tone was so contemptuous… and so incredibly condescending that I wanted to throat punch her. I didn’t respond verbally, but my expression said everything. Even Karen, sitting right there, could tell I was pissed by how blatantly she’d dissed me.
The thing about Mickey is that, every once in a while, she’s okay. More than meh. You catch glimpses of her being tolerable… maybe even pleasant… and during those rare moments, you start to question yourself.
“Aww, she’s not so bad.”
“She’s actually alright!”
And then she opens her mouth up… and ruins it all.
What do you expect from someone whose favorite restaurant is McDonald’s? Or someone who gleefully shouts, “That’s right! My big mamma’s behind the wheel, everyone!” every time Rosanna takes a turn to drive.
Pathetic.
I’ve heard others call her a buzzkill… and they’re not wrong. Mickey has this innate ability to ruin a good vibe just to make herself feel more powerful and important. And it’s all for Rosanna’s attention.
This tour. I swear, it only gets better and better.
Oh well.
I’d had enough of being disregarded for the fact that my social media presence literally saved the tour. None of them had lifted a finger to help, but they were all too happy to reap the benefits.
Honestly, what a crew.
We made our way to Wabah Crater to camp for the night. It’s an enormous, breathtaking crater in the middle of nowhere… but with no safety barriers, the truck got uncomfortably close to the edge at one point. Definitely not my favourite moment.
It was an incredible experience camping right at the edge of a crater… but the wind was relentless. Setting up my tent was almost impossible… and I decided to film the entire scenario. Trying to keep the nylon in one place and my dress from blowing up proved to be more difficult than I was prepared for. For someone who already hates pitching a tent… I’ve discovered I hate pitching a tent in high winds even more.
Dinner was tacos, as I’ve previously mentioned… and they were a big hit… again, despite using chicken instead of beef. I came very close to telling Warren he could handle all the cleanup since he’d conveniently wormed his way out of shopping duty. Thanks to him, I was left dealing with Mr. Meat, which meant I couldn’t focus on the budget or quantities as much as I wanted.
Unsurprisingly, we went over budget… and guess who had to foot the bill?
Me.
By a lot.
Well, not a lot by Canadian standards… but traveling… in Saudi riyals, it felt significant.
You’d think spending extra money would mean we’d have leftovers, but nope. Everyone devoured the tacos… even though they were silly chicken.
This time, they were Mexi-Saudi tacos instead of Mexic-Omantacos. And, once again, my joke was lost on everyone. I don’t even know why I bother.
I still can’t figure out why I started calling Mr. Meat, Mr. Meat… because he’s absolute crap at cooking meat. From the very first time he touched the meat, he’s managed to mess it up. Nothing has changed since. Yes… we’re subjected to his endless commentary on how it should be cooked, how he cooks it at home, how he likes it… what spices are essential… and so on and so on and so on. But in the end, it’s always the same: he has no idea what he’s doing. And most of the time, we have to fix it. Or try, anyway.
He’s terrible at meat.
The night of camping? A disaster.
As much as I despise camping, I do love the alone time. I’ve realized I’m definitely not a group tour person. Well… not a “this group” person.
I have to mention, after admitting I do love my alone time, I understand when people go far and wide to find a private location to pitch their tent. BUT… when people spread out too much, it significantly eliminates the peeing & pooing privacy spots.
Everywhere I went… there was someone with a clear view of my big bum.
The ground was rocky and uneven, the wind was destroying my tent… and it was freezing. I couldn’t get comfortable no matter how hard I tried.
Four more nights of camping left… until I never have to camp again. Stop me in my tracks if I ever say I’m going on a camping group tour again.
The countdown is officially on.
No more roll mat back pain, no more sleeping on rocks, no more shivering in the world’s worst sleeping bag, no more peeing all over my feet or my shoes or my pant legs, no more sand and dirt in my hair…
I can hardly wait.
Only 4 more camp days left…
The crater was really impressive and in the morning, a lot of people rose early to walk around the perimeter. I wasn’t so prepared for a climb with my Birkenstocks on… so I stuck to the main path and was happy enough with that. After an hour or so of rambling along, I ran into Graham. We sat on the ledge and admired the view of the crater.
It was Graham who finally spoke. “This is a strange crew, isn’t it?”
God, yes.
See? I’m not the only one…
Graham… 80 year old Graham… had his rant, right there with me. We must have gone back and forth for an hour or so. He got it all off his chest about how pompous the Geisha is, how odd Sue is, how rude Martin is to all of us, how nasty Marilyn is, how bossy Mickey is…
He even said that he thinks Rosanna isn’t genuine at all… and it’s all just a big show. The funny thing about Graham is that he’s never taken the time to learn anyone’s names. Rebekah is the ‘Indian woman,’ Martin is the ‘truck driver’… and he even referred to Kind Brian as ‘that American bloke.’
Then he leaned in and whispered into my ear, “I’ve heard that bossy one is a lesbian.” (meaning Mickey)
Mickey. Yes, Graham… yes, she is.
He continued… “I think she fancies that guide of ours.” (meaning Rosanna)
Yes, Graham… yes, she most certainly does.
Recently, Graham has been helping with backlocker duty. What’s backlocker? It’s the job of loading and unloading all the luggage and tenting equipment from the truck each time it’s needed. It’s a heavy, backbreaking task. Normally, Mickey and Kind Brian did it, but when Brian left, Graham stepped in to help… and has been doing it ever since.
The problem? Graham is 80 years old.
He should NOT be doing backlocker duties. Meanwhile, the other men on this tour just stand around watching him struggle with bags until they grab their own… and then they’re off, without lifting a finger to help.
It’s absolutely appalling to watch. Even Graham himself has said he doesn’t think it’s quite right.
I couldn’t stand by anymore, so I spoke to Mickey and volunteered to help with backlocker. Hopefully, it’ll ease some of Graham’s burden. I know it won’t inspire or provoke any of the others to chip in.
But honestly… I can’t believe the behavior of some of the men on this tour. It’s disgraceful.
Well… at least Graham finally opened my Christmas gift.
Apparently it had been Kind Brian who’d initially gone to Rosanna to ask about the possibility of Sue pairing up with Graham in order to take care of him and keep an eye on him. He did it out of concern. It was NOT Graham asking Sue… nor was it Graham asking Rosanna. Sue made that all up to get attention.
See? Attention whore.
All those weird cryptic games… nothing.
I’ve had to distance myself from her too… as there’s only so much I can take. I just don’t care anymore and I have no interest in listening to her. Yes, Persnickety complains nonstop… but then there’s Sue, who does nothing but criticize and gossip about everyone. It’s relentless and nasty. No one is off-limits. Most of her rants are directed at Marilyn, but she doesn’t spare the rest of us either.
It’s exhausting.
And loud.
And more frequent than it should be.
But… we’re all onto her by now.
I made an enormous mistake by telling her that she could bunk in with me in Amman.
Big mistake.
Huge.
Ok… I’ll backtrack…
A few weeks back, she approached me about what my plans were for accommodation in Amman, once the tour was over. I told her that I had been looking at hotels and was probably going to book something soon.
The tour finishes on the morning of the 19th… and I don’t fly to London until the 23rd. She flies on the 22nd. I wish I could turn back time and book a flight for the evening of the 19th… but alas, I cannot.
I’m in Amman for another four nights… and Sue asked if we could share a room to save money. At first, it seemed like a reasonable idea, so I agreed. But now? I’m not only second-guessing my decision… I’m dreading it. I’m scrambling for any way to back out of the commitment.
I already tried canceling the room, but had no luck. That’s on me for booking a non-refundable option. Then I started looking into 2-3 day trips out of the city, but even that’s proving difficult.
The only big trip out of Amman is to Israel. Sure… I’d love to visit Jerusalem and Bethlehem… especially considering I’m so close. BUT I simply can’t bring myself to support a country that’s committing such atrocities against Palestine.
But… could I justify sneaking over the border only for a couple of days… just to avoid Sue????
No.
Not at all.
I can’t.
I can’t bring myself to do it. My conscience will not allow it.
So… here I am, stuck between a rock and a hard place. I’ve got to figure something out because, as of January 19th, I’m done with this tour… and everyone that goes along with it.
I’ve made a major decision… I’m upgrading my accommodations from now on… as long as it’s reasonably affordable. This might very well be my fast track to financial ruin, but honestly… my mental health might get to ruin faster if I keep sharing rooms with people like Sue… and Persnickety.
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